


Just Business

by Darkwalk



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Implied Death, Implied Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-02
Updated: 2017-01-02
Packaged: 2018-09-14 02:28:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9153637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darkwalk/pseuds/Darkwalk
Summary: If you think you've escaped, that just means they've caught up to you.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Jazz doesn't actually show up in here but is spoken of.

He slowed from his hurried walk as he left the darkness of the tunnels and found himself in an open pit. Destroyed walls rose in several layers, parts of corridors and empty doorways revealed in the murk. The glow from Luna 1 shone down to gift it all with a silver dim and dusty light. At bottom level where he stood, rubble lay scattered and made the way tricky. 

Not that it mattered. The mech had lost the Autobot saboteur several miles back. Jazz couldn't catch him now. It wasn't worth the trouble of coming all the way out here. He was home free.

'snick snick'

A quiet noise caught his audios. Turning, the Decepticon caught sight of a short dark frame that blended with the surroundings, almost unmoving against the destroyed backdrop. She sat on rusted rebar poking out of a pile of stone chunks and debris. Taller than a minibot or cassette, but still tiny compared to his bigger and thick frame. Vibrant purple optics were turned down to study the little knife she was carving. 

'snick snick snick'. Thin metal shavings floated down to join the shattered wreckage.

She looked up, expression blank. Her helm tilted to study him now instead. A scavenger, probably a neutral who'd found more safety in the ruins than closer to the battlefield and bases. Not much of a threat. Especially not compared to the mechs he'd faced just an hour ago and run from. He flared his armor to make himself look bigger and raised his gun, “Get out of here!”

The aggressive tone was supposed to drive the scavenger off. Instead, she smiled, lips curled up as if he'd done something funny. “'Fraid not mech.”

Ice tore into his lines and cables. She had the same accent Jazz did. Oh Pit.

Optics and visors lit up behind her in the shadows and the dark; yellow, green, orange, pallid blues and dark crimson. Pale denta flashed. There were so many. It seemed he hadn't escaped after all. He took a step back as the femme put away her knife and straightened, balancing on the thin metal poles. 

He wasted precious time turning to try and run.  
.  
.  
.  
Mirage wasn't too far behind. Enough not to be noticed but not so far as to lose his target. 

Stalking silently through the maze of tunnels, the invisible mech crouched as he slid into the open. Coming out of a slightly higher exit than the Decepticon, he found himself on a jutting slab of concrete. An unexpected sight greeted him. A pack..... no, it wasn't a pack. As his optics adjusted to the gloom he realized they were Cybertronians. They'd just finished, cackles and laughter stirring up a harsh victory call while they toyed with parts. Larger armor bits were tossed to and fro while others were consumed in the task of pulling apart the body. 

One stood apart from the chaos. Watching it all calmly, the sooty dull frame turned to the side and tilted her helm down to look right at him. Which should have been impossible with his invisibility activated. Ignoring the ruckus, she nodded at him. 

“Yah tell yah Boss not tah worry 'bout the body.”

In other words, it wouldn't be found. Since it was pointless by now, he rose from his hiding spot and took another step forward to get a good look at the speaker. Silver optics narrowed at the wild group and their apparent leader, wondering but not surprised that they knew Jazz. 

His silence was taken as concern. “An' don't worry none 'bout yah not doin' the job. This was..... paying back ah favor.”

A lazy gesture toward his now dead target. Many sets of optics turned up to stare greedily at him. Hunger, glee, or perhaps amusement in their gaze. He wasn't sure which. When he returned to base, he would have to have a chat with Jazz and hope the head of special ops was in the mood to divulge. 

“My thanks.” Mirage spoke quietly. It couldn't hurt to hopefully keep the hunting group happy. 

Whispers and chuckles answered. Too many optics watched him. With a nod, the blue and white mech turned to leave and took measured steps back the way he came. It wouldn't do to glance behind at them all or run. Who knew if they would come after him next?


End file.
